


Beautiful Friendship

by valderys



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So - was this <i>really</i> the beginning of a beautiful friendship? :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abby_normal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=abby_normal).



> Written in 2005 for Abby_normal's birthday.

The brat was standing on one leg when Frodo found him. Standing on one leg and trying to peer into the fish pond. In his grey woollen jacket, he looked remarkably like a short and rather stout heron. The sight, and the thought, made Frodo smile.

He stopped smiling when the brat turned around and scowled at him. Merry, thought Frodo, his name is Merry, and I had better stop calling him brat, or he'll stop me himself, one of these days. Frodo admired the sturdy arms and legs where they were held akimbo, and realised that the brat… that Merry was growing up. He'd be a teen soon, and his childish features were beginning to smooth out and take on the cast they would have as an adult. He'll be a heart-breaker, Frodo thought, musing, as he caught a flash of stormy, slate grey eyes. And he'll be a leader. Which is just as well, given what he's heir to.

"Haven't you gone yet?" Merry asked then, and put his other foot down, thumping it into the grass, almost stamping it, "And good riddance, that's what I say."

"I thought I'd say goodbye, brat. I don't know why." Frodo kept his voice even, but found he was amused at the lad's cheek, as ever.

"Huh. Don't want to say goodbye. Not to _you_."

"What? Are you going to miss all the frogs you put in my bed? Or that snake who somehow keeps managing to turn up in my coat pocket? Or is it the midnight raids you'll miss, when you change the salt for the sugar, that goes in my tea?"

Merry violently kicked at a tussock of grass, and looked away. "Wasn't me."

Frodo smiled at that obvious untruth.

"You've got other cousins you can plague, you know. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"Didn't notice you were here," the brat muttered, glowering at him from beneath his brows.

Inside, Frodo shrugged, and then turned away. He'd done his duty, as usual, and now he was leaving to go to Bag End. Where he was wanted. Where Cousin Bilbo had expressed an earnest desire to make him his heir. The attention was lovely, as was the contemplation of a room to call his very own. Bliss, really.

So he was unprepared for a small whirlwind of sturdy limbs and wayward curls that launched itself into a run and came barrelling into his side. Astonished, Frodo looked down at Merry, where he was clinging like a burr, muttering something unintelligible into his waistcoat. What on earth..?

"Brat? What is it?" Frodo asked, baffled, but determinedly trying to detach the lad. At this rate, he was going to be late, for the cart was leaving soon…

"I don't want you to go!" Merry raised a wild face to meet Frodo's own startled gaze, and Frodo was astonished to see tears staining the round cheeks. Tears? For him? From the brat?

He staggered a little, with surprise and the determined weight of a sturdy hobbit lad, until he sat down at last, and found his arms stealing somewhat unwillingly round the brat's shoulders.

"Umm. Merry? What's all this about then?"

"…Goin' to miss you."

Frodo could barely hear the broken words, whispered as they were to his waistcoat, not to himself. He patted Merry's shoulder awkwardly, and then said, not entirely truthfully, "I'm going to miss you, too."

"But you're going to live miles and miles away, and I can't come and visit, or anything, and you'll forget all about me, and no-one else is half as much fun as you…"

There was real pain in the lad's voice, Frodo thought, touched somehow by the display, despite all the crowding memories of spiders in his teacups. With a sinking feeling that he was going to regret this, Frodo hit on the one thing in the litany of complaint that he could answer.

"Who says you can't come and visit me?" he offered gently.

"But it's so far. Mama said…"

He'd asked Aunt Esmeralda already? Frodo was astonished anew. Who would have thought..?

"But Bilbo can send the cart for you, if you like. He can send a servant with it, too, if Aunt Esmeralda is worried."

"Really? Can I _really_ come and visit you, Frodo?"

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it, now would I?"

Although Frodo wasn't at all sure about that, it seemed to do the trick. From a scowling, stormy mess, the sunshine of a smile broke through. Merry sniffed once more and then wiped his nose on his sleeve. Frodo tried not to wince – oh, what it was to be that young!

"I bet you'll have all sorts of interesting animals and bugs and things to do in Bag End, won't you, Frodo? Do you think Cousin Bilbo will mind if I bring Fido – that's my pet grass snake, you know. I don't think you were ever formally introduced. Umm. Sorry about that. Do you think…?"

Frodo listened, bemused, as his pestilential cousin chattered on and on. His nose is still pink, Frodo thought, pink from weeping. And yet now he's happy again just because I said he could visit me on some indeterminate future occasion. He shook his head, very slightly, as certain as he had ever been that the world was a very odd place indeed.

And yet… Frodo thought about that. The brat may have annoyed him, plagued him, and made his life a misery, but he had never, ever ignored him. Had he? In the huge depths of Brandy Hall, with so many mouths to feed, and so many youngsters underfoot, it was easy to be ignored. It was so very easy to feel sorry for yourself, too. And Frodo had never done that. Had he? He had never had the time. And for that he had the brat to thank. No, Frodo corrected himself, for that he had _Merry_ to thank.

Tightening his grasp around Merry's shoulders, Frodo tucked him in closer against his side, and listened to him prattle. It would be weeks before they could arrange a visit, Frodo thought, but strangely, instead of reluctant, the prospect left him feeling somewhat exhilarated.

For, as he pondered anew, he realised it might take weeks to arrange for all the little… surprises that any guest bedroom might acquire, in such an odd bachelor home as Bilbo's. He grinned quietly to himself over Merry's head.

Oh yes, Frodo decided. He was rather looking forward to the prospect, after all.


End file.
